


eyes wide open (you flood into me)

by orphan_account



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Consensual Violence, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Kink Exploration, Light Bondage, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 12:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Junhui losing to Wonwoo made him feel like he was still gaining, and the wins against him kept Wonwoo alight.





	eyes wide open (you flood into me)

**Author's Note:**

> Striker - fighting robot  
> fighter - owner of a Striker  
>  
> 
> guess who had a moment and decided to draw inspiration from that first episode of love, death and robots, black mirror (ugh), and all sci-fi tropes where humans build robots to fight for sport? a lot of this is made up, not closely followed after an existing au with the terms i've used here to define things. is just mostly as an excuse to write smth different and spicy but i ended up fleshing out world details too much.
> 
> additional warnings and authors note include: implied/referenced homophobia and resolving relations offscreen, not explicitly outlined kink negotiation happening.

 

No one ever said  
spoiled fruit tastes  
sweeter.  
The body unhinged  
like tectonic plates.  
You cannot escape  
your own skin.  
- [Ana Carrizo](http://elvedon.tumblr.com/), “Spoiled Fruit”

 

 

 

“You’re still tense.”

Junhui blinks, vision sliding into focus on Wonwoo on the other side of the room, looking at Junhui shift restlessly on the couch scrolling through his phone, like Wonwoo is watching steady-moving traffic outside their busy neighborhood. Contemplative and almost disinterested.

“Tense? I just won a good three hundred bucks,” Junhui says, allowing himself a lazy grin. “The fight was a good one!” He’d pick the aftermath of a drawn out fight coursing through him than the satisfaction of the prize money any day. Minghao wasn’t even too sore about losing when he’d hung back to properly congratulate Junhui like the good sport he is.

“You won because you weren’t distracted. Which wasn’t the case when we sparred the last time,” Wonwoo adds, his mouth quirked up.

“You _cheated_ , give me a break,” Junhui complains.

“Alright fine, that was once. But still, tense,” Wonwoo repeats, stands up from the chair at his desk full of wires and screens to walk over to Junhui. The painful ache from Wonwoo roughly squeezing his shoulder unravels and Junhui groans in relief.

“What are you going to do with the extra money?” Wonwoo asks behind him on the couch, and Junhui relaxes into Wonwoo’s hands kneading into his shoulders.

“Get myself a proper massage,” Junhui answers, and tries to move away when Wonwoo slaps Junhui’s back in response.

The last time they sparred—when they do now to recalibrate the system of Junhui’s Striker, like getting Spirit up one level in a game with new moves unlocked—Junhui had hesitated under Wonwoo’s weight. Wonwoo had always been quicker on his feet, better at defense, but had little technique. Something that Junhui has in spades. He could have easily cuffed a hand around Wonwoo’s neck above him and fended him off at the last second if Wonwoo hadn’t gone and kissed him with Junhui’s arms still locked under his hold.

That isn’t exactly the most incriminating part, and they both know it.

“You like the restraint,” Wonwoo says like a statement with the undertone of a question behind Junhui, who twists around to look at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You kind of go elsewhere when we kiss and I go and do this”— Wonwoo wraps a hand around Junhui’s wrist lying limp on his lap and applies pressure, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep his hand pinned down. “When I’ve got both your hands like this when we fuck, too,” he explains, eyes trained on Junhui for a shift in expression and it’s enough to make Junhui squirm, despite the years of familiarity already sifted between them.

If Junhui’s face wasn’t searing hot before, it’s most likely a furious shade of red now. “Are you trying to point out that I might be into—” Junhui asks, his tongue growing thicker but he doesn’t voice out _bondage, restrained, tied down_. Instead, the automatic reflex is to try and wrestle his wrist out of Wonwoo’s hand but even that is a weak attempt. “I don’t—I don’t know, how can you even tell?” Junhui says, feeling like he’s put on an X-ray again and Wonwoo’s answer does nothing to placate him.

“I can’t. It was a thought and I got curious,” Wonwoo says, grinning fully this time. His hand catches Junhui’s properly so he can play with his fingers. “The only way to know is by trying.”

“Are you joking?”

“Only if you want me to be,” is Wonwoo’s infuriating answer but it goes without saying that he’d never make Junhui do what he didn’t want to. “You could tie me up, if that makes you more comfortable,” Wonwoo ends up saying in an even tone and an awkward cough.

“If I’m more comfortable,” Junhui echoes dully, letting his eyes burn through Wonwoo in an incredulous look. There’s still the telltale embers of a fading bruise spread over Wonwoo’s forearm where he’d blocked Junhui’s strikes aimed at him. Underneath Junhui’s own shirt, there are marks to mirror it. He had kissed Wonwoo back, as much as he wanted to after the sparring, a soothing apology unspoken when he skimmed his fingers featherlight over the blue and purple splotched on Wonwoo’s skin.

“Again, it’s just a thought,” Wonwoo says, kissing him on the cheek before Junhui can try to utter out anything else, and standing up to ask him what he wants to order in for food.

 

 

 

 

Junhui doesn’t actually spend the money on a massage, even if his day job could have easily covered for little luxuries like that. Besides, it’s a good thing that Junhui doesn’t spend much of the extra money he gets out of this because he loses his next match; Yangyang’s Striker wins with a clean uppercut that leaves Spirit’s head disjointed on its hinges, circuits sparking through the open metal mouth.

It’s not exactly this that throws Junhui off but the statement that Seungcheol offers him after he’s helped stowed Spirit at the back of his truck.

“People like you here. The newcomers all want the “veterans” for a challenge, and Minghao won’t be here to keep up the healthy competition once he graduates and goes back to China,” Seungcheol tells him, looking up at the cloudless sky touched crimson by the sunset. There’s no one else besides them in the parking lot of the fight’s venue, some old warehouse properly preserved into an arena for small bot fighters to keep up the sport. “Are you leaving too?” Seungcheol asks bluntly. His eyes are gentle where Junhui feels like he’s folding in on himself like the edges of a leaf when it falls, plucked clean.

Because he’s thought about it, some place that doesn’t look over this dull cityscape burnt orange at dusk. Although the future had always been frightening.

“Doesn’t seem likely, even if Wonwoo and I talk about it sometimes,” he says, and Seungcheol nods.

“Talk? Or skirt around?” Seungcheol offers a smile when Junhui huffs at him. “You both should talk. Release some tension or something.”

“Tension?” Junhui asks, bracing himself for where this conversation seems to be going.

“When was the last time you tried anything new with Wonwoo?” Seungcheol asks in an even casual tone. “You’re—” Seungcheol seems to scrabble for the right word to say in his head for a second. “Tense,” is what he settles on saying and Junhui presses his mouth into a thin line. “I can see it in your fights. Not that it’s a problem.”

“You say that like we’ve been together for years. It’s only been a few months, hyung,” Junhui reminds him, frowning. He pushes his repair kit into the passenger seat, the summer heat smothering his skin and he quickly wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Ah. Well, when you got a place together last year, the details got blurry. Everyone thought you two were already dating then. Since you’re both shacked up now, you could use more time for each other,” Seungcheol suggests, gesturing wildly below Junhui’s belt line. Junhui slams the door of his truck so hard that Seungcheol jumps a little.

“I haven’t heard anyone say _shacked up_ since I was _twelve,_ ” Junhui says, eyes darting over to the driver’s seat and trying to latch on to a topic for a conversation change because Seungcheol encouraging a healthier sex life is uncannily reminiscent of that one uncle Junhui used to avoid so much when he was a teenager during New Year family gatherings. “Besides how do you know I’m _not_ getting laid enough?” He says, voice rising in pitch while Seungcheol blinks. Junhui’s worded implication has its rightful weight—after all, they’d fucked a couple of weeks ago after Soonyoung’s birthday party.

“Okay, good point. You don’t have to tell me the details,” Seungcheol quickly says, and Junhui shoots him a look.

 

 

 

 

Pain used to be simulated for a bot fighter so they experienced almost every punch and blow in a match through the tiny discs stuck to the temples, connecting them to their Striker. Until the number of strokes and seizures shot through the roof, and laws had to be regulated. The shocks transmitted to a fighter were dialed down by the time the sport became big, so Junhui feels nothing more than a sweet, biting buzz, pricks of sensations close to pain that disappeared as quickly as it came. And people figured anyway that the heady daze of warm limbs crashing like storms in a real human fight couldn’t be emulated completely.

Even when pride was weighed out, not being able to get out of a grappling hold repeatedly after the five-second yield only made the fight and survival response messier and raw, clouded logic with flash floods of adrenaline. Wonwoo had torn his eyes away from Junhui’s face the first few times he wasn’t able to slip away, couldn’t pick up the escape technique as easily when Junhui made it seem so easy.

“Don’t hold back,” he still gritted out with his face to the side, breathing rough and unsteady against Junhui’s arm when Junhui loosened his hold around Wonwoo’s neck.

“Then get out of it. Thought you were quicker than me,” Junhui simply said in his ear, the brush of a taunt before he’d let Wonwoo get up to try again.

Wonwoo had helped Junhui build Spirit a couple years ago in Junhui’s garage, born out of a childhood dream that Junhui had when he was much younger and Wonwoo’s perpetual drive to see a pet project through. The sparring sessions to program the fight movements into Spirit were just a lighted match that burst into flames on liquid gasoline laid out. Searing and marvelous, eyes blazing the first time Junhui brought Wonwoo down on his back with a neat kick to the ankle.

But most of all, he struck Junhui as different—Wonwoo didn’t have his own Striker but still had more than enough of a fighter in him that most people wouldn’t expect coming from a Media Studies major who looked like he cared more about his film cameras than getting his hands dirty at the time. But apparently he’d learned some martial arts before, and Junhui likes to be pleasantly surprised. There was always something—a strange glimmer that shone through when Wonwoo laughed, nose scrunching up and eyes turning bright, the force of a tide Junhui couldn’t grasp and pick apart the layers of, compared to everyone else Junhui had practiced fighting with. Because Junhui losing to Wonwoo made him feel like he was still gaining, and the wins against him kept Wonwoo alight. 

And the way Wonwoo had always looked at him with the inkling of a question hidden away was something in of itself. He’d looked at Junhui that way even after he finally breaks through a weak link before Junhui seals his cinch hold on him one day, doesn’t find answers in the useless scores tallied and scratched into one of the wooden posts of the boxing ring in Seungcheol’s dad’s gym.

He’d found it in Junhui’s thundering pulse against his fingers on his neck, Junhui’s breath caught in his throat when Wonwoo had kissed him the first time after a match in the warehouse’s parking lot. The victory that Wonwoo leaves on Junhui’s tongue that night, tasted infinitely sweeter than anything else he’d won before.

That night was just about five months ago.

Tonight, they’re watching Soonyoung fight against a newcomer named Ten. Soonyoung is a crowd favorite so it’s a bright, loud affair. Everything amplified by the senses with the noise and the dull thud and crashing orchestra of metal and claws colliding in the cage.

“What if I build that into Spirit?” Wonwoo says in Junhui’s ear, nodding at the boosters under the feet of Ten’s Striker that hikes it up to the top of the high cage when Soonyoung swings at him with his Striker’s mechanical tail leaving a dent instead in the cage.

“They’re really expensive. Where is this guy from again?” Junhui flinches when the tail catches on to the other’s leg, and sparks rain down when a few wires come loose in Ten’s Striker’s right knee. But otherwise, they continue fighting.

“Thailand. An exchange student here, and filthy rich. I forget where he goes to school but he’s obviously smart enough to customize his Striker all by himself.”

“Too bad we aren’t rich then,” Junhui says, not at all apologetic. The boosters seem cool but he could live without them.

Wonwoo nudges him. “I know people. I could probably find what we need. Then we could start building it in after our salary bonuses.” Wonwoo snorts at his own words. “Or save the money.” He bounces a little on the heels of his shoes when a man taller than both of them blocks his view. Junhui pushes through people, leads Wonwoo to a better spot with both hands clutching on to his waist behind him.

“What would you do with money?” Junhui asks, not really thinking about it.

“Besides invest? Who knows. You could come home with me, live by the sea,” Wonwoo says off-handed but his eyes dart towards Junhui’s face. Wonwoo’s home was the coast and the sea breeze. It’s ironic, considering he doesn’t like beaches very much.

“Thought that far ahead, have you?” Junhui says, a sly smile pulling up his mouth, even if the truth is that Junhui has thought about things like this too.

“Maybe,” Wonwoo answers. His expression is too serious for Junhui to tease.

The lights come on when the crowd swells in noise and the cheers. Ten won the match fair and square, and he’s approached the middle of the cage to meet Soonyoung for a handshake, but Junhui tears his eyes from the scene. Looks back to Wonwoo next to him where part of his face is thrown in clear cut lightning exposure from the bright white lights, a glister of tenderness broken down in his eyes when he smiles at Junhui. It should scare him, that within this, there is the invisible structure of a future ahead. But it doesn’t.

 

 

 

 

“I said ‘maybe’ and now you’re here asking me to tie you up,” Wonwoo deadpans, blinking over Junhui. “Like I did mean it, but if that’s what it takes for you to say yes,” he jokes, head ducking down so he smiles smug into Junhui’s skin.

It hasn’t been long after they’ve finally gotten back to the house, stumbling backwards in between rough kisses and half their clothes getting peeled off. But Junhui feels antsy and maybe they’re all right, maybe he does get tense too easily without realizing.

Wonwoo’s bangs tickle Junhui’s bare shoulder and he shoves at Wonwoo’s side, pulling at his belt loops. “Come on, it’s not like I ever actually said no to it,” Junhui mutters, the heat radiating off his body that he’s sure Wonwoo must feel the warmth tenfold when he slides his hands over Junhui’s stomach to cup him over his jeans.

Junhui keeps his breathing steady at that even as Wonwoo kisses him, licks against his open mouth slow and even. He lets Junhui kiss harder so it’s a fair play of stepping back and letting Junhui drink in the soft noises Wonwoo makes when he drags his fingers under his shirt.

“You won’t get to touch me,” Wonwoo murmurs into Junhui’s neck.

“I know that.”

“Yeah sure.”

Junhui nips his ear in response and it has an immediate effect. Wonwoo ruts into Junhui’s hips and lets him suck hard into the delicate skin at the base of his neck. No bruises from the spar remain so the peppered marks near his collarbones promise a pretty brand. Wonwoo’s breathing would hitch the next day if Junhui kisses his neck gently, leaves the bruises barely smarting.

“Hands up,” Wonwoo instructs, and Junhui keeps his tongue between his teeth as he complies.  This isn’t new, they’ve done this before without Wonwoo telling him what to do. It’s weird, being hyper aware of the hard muscle of Wonwoo’s legs on top of his, the deliberately gentle way he closes his hands over Junhui’s wrists right near his head and the now painful strain in his pants when Wonwoo kisses over his torso, tongue tasting the dip along his stomach while one hand keeps his wrists pinned with barely any pressure.

When he gets Junhui’s jeans down enough that he can mouth his cock over the fabric of his underwear, Junhui lets out an impatient soft noise, and his hands immediately go down, moves out of Wonwoo’s flimsy grasp. Wonwoo stops, grabs his wrists again with more force and says, “You can’t touch.”

“You never said anything about self-restraint,” Junhui counters, his breathing growing heavy with the frustration bubbling under his skin. “What happened to fucking me while I’m tied down?”

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you the first time we try it, remember?” Wonwoo reminds him, bright eyes burning into Junhui heavier and clearly pleased that he’s getting Junhui to this state—simmering, sparks firing up and rushing through his blood. “You remember the safe word, right?” Wonwoo asks while he ties a secure knot around Junhui’s wrists with a silk tie.

“Of course,” Junhui grumbles.

“And if you ask me to stop, I’ll stop.” Wonwoo kisses him on the lips, probably meant to soothe but it only makes the want spike, the need to be touched almost dizzying for Junhui. “You’re pretty quiet. Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks in concern, watching his expression and Junhui exhales, bottom lip slipping from under his teeth where he’d been biting down on it.

“You’re so slow,” Junhui almost whines, except it turns into a growl. “Want you to—just do something, anything,” he says, hands tugging downwards except he’s helpless being bound.

“Anything?” Wonwoo yanks off his underwear and hooks Junhui’s legs over his shoulders, and where he grips Junhui’s limbs, his skin sings electric, every nerve wired underneath.

It’s equal parts pain and relief when Junhui feels Wonwoo suck once, twice on the head of his cock. He’s moaning by now, he doesn’t know how loud but probably enough to keep Wonwoo licking at his rim, his tongue pushing gently against his entrance. Junhui makes a high noise, throws his head back, one leg instinctively jolting and almost kicking over Wonwoo's shoulder. Wonwoo wraps a firm arm around it, keeps it locked there with an amused "Baby, don't do that," and Junhui wants to swear at him. It's like static singing up his core and spine, not unlike the emulated high of a fight he was used to, but better and at the same time worse. The binds tying his hands together anchored all his focus on the feeling of Wonwoo's mouth, fingers digging into skin, pricking at his sanity.

“Wonwoo,” Junhui chokes out, his voice hoarse and he lifts his head to try to look down at Wonwoo but can only get so far with his hands struggling.

Wonwoo gives one more lick over his hole and a teasing bite on Junhui’s inner thigh for good measure before he meets him halfway by shifting upwards a little, lips shiny. “What, Junnie? What do you want?”

“Fuck, you’re doing good, you’re doing so fucking good but please, I want you to _touch_ me,” Junhui grits out.

“I am touching you—”

“If you aren’t going to fuck me tonight, could you at least touch my dick? Jerk me off, blow me, I don’t care, just touch me,” Junhui manages to say in one coherent sentence, willing himself to keep eye contact with Wonwoo while at it and whatever Wonwoo sees must be a pretty picture. He kisses Junhui greedy and uncoordinated, like the few times they’d kiss after sparring in the empty shower rooms, the heady rush still buzzing through them.

The silk tie is beginning to weigh further down now on Junhui’s wrists, prolonged pressure made stronger by gravity and he’s thankful that Wonwoo prefers not to use rope, or something. But as soon as Junhui thinks this, Wonwoo is untying the knot, letting his hands loose.

“I like it when you pull my hair,” Wonwoo says quietly in a rush by way of explanation, and that knocks the wind out of Junhui’s chest a bit, realizing how affected Wonwoo really is now that he isn’t holding conscious control, giving it up really, so Junhui can take. So he’ll take in the sight of Wonwoo’s cheeks being a pretty shade and eyes so very dark before he closes them, eyelashes sweeping the high brow of his cheek. He brings his lips down over Junhui’s cock, wet heat of his mouth sliding up and down slowly in aching delicious relief.

“Wait, let me watch,” Junhui says, swallowing down the dryness in his throat. Wonwoo pulls off him, with his mouth quirked up, laughs softly into his thigh when Junhui moves up to lean against the headboard. When Wonwoo takes him into his mouth again, he groans full and strained, does his best not to buck upwards and just fuck into his mouth. He could save that for another time. Instead, he runs his thumb over Wonwoo’s cheekbone, the sharp cut of his jaw so he can feel how Wonwoo works up and down on his cock. “Look at me. Eyes open,” Junhui whispers softly, his own breath catching when Wonwoo opens his eyes, looks up at him with liquid fire, and the vibration shoots up his body when Junhui tugs on Wonwoo’s hair and he hums, low and hoarse around Junhui.

The tension coiled from being tied up grows larger and larger, boiling steady with the noises he’s making bubbling up his chest out of his mouth until he feels like he’s about to burst. He writhes under Wonwoo’s touch when he rubs a finger against his entrance, teasing and tapping but never pushing in.

Everything glistens in Junhui’s vision, propelled with his own loud heartbeat that he can hear, even when Wonwoo pulls off of him and uses his hand to keep Junhui on the brink of falling, whispering words of encouragement against Junhui’s lips and his cheek. He finally crashes when he comes all over his stomach and Wonwoo’s hand, his orgasm ripped out like an explosion unto himself, hardly aware that Wonwoo watches him intently with something close to wonder.

Wonwoo leans down, presses his mouth against Junhui’s collarbones, lips moving over his shoulder. Junhui’s panting has subsided by now, his bones finally feeling solid as Wonwoo helps wipe him down. “How was it?” Wonwoo asks. His lips are still wet, just swollen enough and his hair a mess from being pulled at.

“Good. Really really good, great,” Junhui answers, distracted and already reaching out to pull down Wonwoo’s boxers. “Let me.”

Wonwoo ducks his head down, forehead against Junhui’s shoulder when Junhui flicks his wrist, picks up and settles into the speed that he likes. He buries his fingers in Wonwoo’s hair, the nails scratching the scalp and he pulls gently, lifting his head up and getting him to face Junhui. Wonwoo’s cock throbs in his fist, the head a lovely red and it isn’t long before Wonwoo moans his name against his mouth, swearing reverence and love when he comes. Junhui brings his hand up to lick at it, and Wonwoo huffs out a low laugh in between deep shuddering breaths.

Their heartbeats slow down, and Junhui’s got his cleaned hand carding through Wonwoo’s hair beside him, tender this time when Wonwoo shifts so he can properly look at Junhui.

“What?” Junhui asks. He’s exhausted, eyelids fluttering lazily but he still catches the way Wonwoo tilts his head downward, curling into himself like he does when he’s thinking.

“My family wants you to come visit home with me soon, for my brother’s birthday,” Wonwoo says.

Maybe whatever tension that Junhui had balled up before is gone, seeped out of his system for the time being, because Junhui would be worried. He’d met Wonwoo’s parents once when they visited for college but they weren’t together then. If Junhui’s mother could figure it out from the way their hands were always drifting like magnets pulled to each other, pinkies always touching underneath tables at catch-up dinners, then Wonwoo’s parents would see it.

“You haven’t told them, have you?” Junhui asks, thinks he can probably guess the answer.

“Besides my brother? I think they already know. If not about us, then about me.” Wonwoo shifts his head so he’s face to face next to Junhui. “They said I could love who I wanted to, if it made me happy. It took a while but if that happened,” Wonwoo stops talking, sinks back into trying to string words together over the hope but Junhui understands.

Junhui waits a few beats before asking “Do you want me to go?”

“Yes, I do. Of course I do,” Wonwoo replies, brushing back Junhui’s bangs. “It’s only been five months but they've known you for a long while and, well, I’d like you to visit.” For all the steadiness that Wonwoo is in his life, it’s always been like the light sweep of a butterfly wing against Junhui’s cheek, the warmth that belongs there when Wonwoo reaches out to hold his hand and trust Junhui to pull him up on his feet again. The invisible structure of a future he could see ahead had always been there. Sure and focused, but never imposing. What mattered was choices now, and who he wanted to have around.

“Okay,” Junhui says softly, brushing his thumb against Wonwoo’s lips. “I’ll be with you when you come home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the fifth season by Oh My Girl T_T I blame sleep-deprivation and being jacked up from vitamins I shouldn’t have taken at night for this, but comments are always appreciated and I would love to hear thoughts if u liked this <3


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